Особое чувство собственного ирландства. Пат Инголдзби

do a person any good to keep going back to the past, she told herself. But for all these years her thoughts had lingered here with Quito.

      Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed he was coming at a much slower pace and she suddenly remembered his injuries.

      Skipping four steps down to him, she took hold of his arm. “Quito, I’m sorry. This is winding you. Maybe you shouldn’t go the rest of the way.”

      He tossed her a dry look. “I’m all right. Hell, after this I should be able to run the 220.”

      She sighed. “I wasn’t thinking about your injuries,” she apologized again.

      Shaking his head, he urged her on up the steps. “I’m not an invalid, Clementine. Maybe a little slow still, but it’s going to take a damn sight more than a bastard with a nine millimeter to kill me.”

      Clementine didn’t know what she would have done if she’d arrived in Aztec to find that Quito had been killed. Dear God, she couldn’t begin to imagine the world without his powerful presence. Even eleven years ago, he’d been one of the driving forces that held this county together. She figured things were still that way. No doubt the people around here adored him and would have grieved at his passing. And she…well, she would have sunk into a black hole.

      In spite of his determined words, she continued to hold on to his arm and they took each step slowly together until they reached the porch.

      Sliding off her sunglasses, she dug into her shoulder bag until she felt the key ring. Once she’d unlocked the door and swung it open, she glanced around to see Quito standing just behind her. But his gaze wasn’t on her. He was staring down at the valley spread below them.

      “Will liked being up here on the mountain,” Quito mused aloud. “How is your father now? And your mother?”

      Tender emotion knotted her throat, forcing her to swallow before she could answer. “They’re both doing fine. They live in Houston, not far from my place. Right now they’ve gone to spend the summer in Rome. Daddy didn’t care a whit about going. But Mother loves it there and well, you know, Mother gets what Mother wants.”

      His lips twisted to a wry slant. “I never thought of your mother as demanding.”

      Clementine laughed softly. “You’re being kind, Quito. We both know she’s demanding and Daddy spoils her rotten. Just like he did—”

      “You?”

      Her blue gaze clashed with his dark brown eyes and she felt her stomach go weak as if she’d been punched by a fist.

      Releasing a heavy breath, she murmured, “Yes, like me.”

      Before he could say more, she quickly turned and stepped inside. Dust and stale air assaulted her nose and she sneezed, then sneezed again.

      As she punched off the alarm system, Quito said, “Bless you.”

      Glancing over her shoulder she saw that he’d followed her inside and the gentle expression on his face surprised her and warmed her spirits at the same time.

      “Thank you, Quito,” she said, then with a broad smile, she walked back to him and grabbed his hand.

      “Come on,” she said, tugging him along. “Let’s go exploring.”

      The foyer was ridiculously large. Once they’d left it, they stepped into the great room. It was long and wide with huge pane windows that looked out over the valley floor. At night, they could see the lights of Bloomfield vying for a place among the stars shining across the desert.

      It had once been a festive room where her mother and father had held many parties and get-togethers. Now, except for the furniture covered in dust protectors, the place was ghostly quiet.

      “I remember your mother had one of the most beautiful Christmas trees I’d ever seen standing over there in the corner. It reached the ceiling and she had gold ribbons tied on it and little toy soldiers hanging from the branches.”

      “Hmm. I remember, too. She gave you a tie with reindeer on it and a pair of green socks. I’m sure you thought she was crazy,” Clementine said with a smile.

      Actually he’d been honored that Delta Jones had even thought of putting him on her Christmas list. He was not from their lofty social circle and he was half Navajo and half Hispanic on top of that. Other than his adopted parents, he’d had no family of his own. No deep roots to explain his heritage. Sure, he’d been dating the Joneses’ daughter, but they’d seemed to understand that he was just a pastime for Clementine and not a serious love affair. Her parents had never considered him a threat to sweep her away to his life and they’d been right. When Will had retired and packed up to move back to Houston, Clementine had been right beside her parents, not Quito.

      “Your mother was always nice to me,” he told her. “So was your father. I’m glad to hear they’re doing well. Does your father still own Jones Oil and Gas?”

      Clementine started toward a hallway that would lead them toward a den, a study and several bedrooms. Quito followed a step behind her and as she looked around at the dusty walls and windows, he looked at her.

      Except for her curves being a little rounder and fuller, she still looked the same. She was a tall woman with long shapely legs and arms. Her skin was the sort that tanned deeply and her light hair was a striking contrast against her face. As were her vivid blue eyes. He’d always thought of them as two pools of blue ocean. Calm and serene and beautiful at times, stormy at others.

      “Yes,” she answered. “Oscar Ramirez keeps everything pulled together and running smoothly. You might remember him. The corporate lawyer who used to come up here in the summer to do a little fishing?”

      “I remember.”

      “Well, anyway, Daddy has him, and he takes the burden of the business off his shoulders.”

      Quito mentally cursed as he realized he’d been thinking about the pleasures of her body rather than the words coming out of her mouth.

      “Uh—sorry, I didn’t catch what you said,” he allowed.

      She glanced around at him and frowned. “Oh, I’ll bet you’re getting tired. Let’s go up to the sun deck and rest a while before we start back,” she suggested. “Can you make the climb?”

      Damn it, he’d always had the reputation of being as strong as a bull. It irked him to be less than a hundred percent in front of this woman. Still, her show of concern surprised him. It also made him feel special. A word he shouldn’t link with Clementine. He wasn’t special to her. He was simply an old lover.

      The two of them climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom on the left. The bed and matching furniture were still in place and Clementine trailed a finger through the thick dust on the dresser top. “It would be nice to see everything clean again,” she said wistfully. “Maybe I’ll do that before I leave.”

      Leave. Of course she would be leaving in a short time, he thought. That shouldn’t surprise him. It shouldn’t make him feel like a dead, hollow log, either.

      To the left of the bed, a wide, sliding glass door led onto the redwood sun deck. Quito unlatched the locks holding the glass in place, then slid it open.

      A warm, fresh breeze met them as they stepped onto the wooden deck and Clementine lifted her face to the wind and shook back her hair.

      “Leave the door open, Quito. Fresh air is what the whole house needs.”

      He left the door ajar as she requested and followed her to the middle of the large sundeck. On the north side of the house the lofty view looked down upon a large kidney-shaped swimming pool. On the opposite side, you could see all the way to the Navajo reservation. At the moment, the reds and greens and purples of the desert landscape shimmered in the morning sunshine.

      Drawn by the view, Clementine walked over to the railing and was about to place her hands on the smooth wood when Quito called out.

      “Don’t